Cat and Mouse
by Mysterious Loser
Summary: Based off of the version from The Adventure Company-- My alternate ending to the game. Patrick Narracott is the last one alive on the island. Is he smarter than the killer or will he end up joining the rest of his companions?


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Agatha Christie, her book, or The Adventure Company.

**A/N:** Woah, I'm slightly nervous. I've never posted in the book section before. While I HAVE read the book "And Then There Were None," this ficlet is based off of the game made by The Adventure Company (Not a bad game—it definitely had a twist—but I like the original ending from the book better.). In their version, there's an extra character sent to the island, who happens to be Fred Narracott's brother, Patrick. Without giving too much away, this is the alternate ending I wanted to write for the game where Patrick fails epically.

**\/\/\/**

**Cat and Mouse**

**\/\/\/**

Patrick Narracott skid under a boulder and thought no one could see him. Dust swirled up and he held his breath. Holding Lombard's gun close, he popped the chamber open and peered inside.

'_Five bullets. Five bullets should be enough.'_

He damned himself that he couldn't save Lombard. Now that the man was dead, Patrick was the sole survivor of the party he had helped ferry to the island. Slowly, he turned his head to the beach, where his boat had been scuttled into two pieces. It was still bobbing up and down in the waters by the dock. He silently thanked Blore with a hint of resentment. White caps crowned the crashing waves, and the rising wind raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Closing the chamber, he tucked the piece into his coat pocket and snaked his head around the side of the rock. The murderer was out there somewhere. Patrick tucked himself as close to the rock as he could. His fingers purple and stiff, he curled them into a fist several times, and then rubbed them against his pants.

'_I could stay here until the squall hits, but where do I go then? This is probably all a part of his plan. Flush me out so I have to reach higher ground. He'll be waiting for sure.'_

Patrick had to get off of this island before he ended up like Lombard and the others. His brother, Fred, was most likely already out at sea, coming to the island to find him. Before Patrick sailed out with his passengers, he had made a promise with him.

"_Fred, I've got a bad feeling about this, but I know your situation with the island and some of those going." Patrick watched the first set of passengers arrive at the dock. "There's no man I trust to go in your place more than me." _

"_If you're not back by the fourth morning before the gulls come squawking, I'll call Morris and his men, and we'll head out there." _

_Fred had slapped a hand on Patrick's shoulder._

Although Patrick wouldn't wish Fred in his stead, God knew he should've listened to his instincts. He could wait for his brother, but the upcoming storm may delay the rescue team. No, Patrick couldn't afford to wait. As much as the thought wrenched his stomach, he had to return to that horrid mansion—had to face the murderer, had to stare Vera's corpse in the eyes again like he had before cowering here.

There was a flare gun in his room, stashed in his case. After Blore was clocked over the head, Patrick had helped himself to the man's belongings, and stashed them in his room for quick access.

'_That flare gun's no good to me in my room, though.' _

He couldn't wait for Fred any longer. If there were any ships left out there on the sea, he had to signal them before the storm hit.

One hand on the lump of his coat pocket, he stealthily maneuvered around the boulders. He crouched over, moved away from the beach, and stopped on the mountain trail.

'_No need to be overly cautious, but best to stay on your toes. You've seen this guy work before. Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's not around.'_

The narrow-minded optimism appeased him. As long as there was a small chance that he could get the drop on the murderer with the revolver already at his side, then Patrick was ready. Never mind that he hadn't the vaguest idea of who he was up against; anyone who wasn't him was a fair target.

Using a hand to brush back overgrown fern and grass, Patrick dropped down to a lower level of rocks, the weathervane on the highest peak of the mansion loomed out from behind a twisted apple tree. The mansion towered over its labyrinthine garden and nearly hidden vineyard hanging behind the apiary. Patrick darted his eyes back and forth between the two paths that forked the road, and he shuffled his feet, his back slouched with a crooked spine. Heavy steps fell onto the porch. His hand gripped the doorknob.

'_You've got the revolver already, Narracott. Just get the flare gun from your case, run the bloody hell out of here, and finish what Lombard set out to do.'_

The door groaned as it swung open. He removed the pistol from his coat, his shadow in the doorway. Moving into the Foyer, Patrick crept around the flower arrangement in the hall. He relaxed his limbs to keep the clicking of his soles silent as his body movements flowed with every step. He reached for the stairwell with a shaky hand.

One step toward his destination, but one step further away from a clear sanction. Once he reached the fifth step, his muscles twitched, his movements quickened, and his attempt at stealth was abandoned. Scrambling up the staircase, his head jerked up.

The message written above the door at the top halted him.

He couldn't take it in right away.

_ONE LITTLE BOY DID NOT FIT IN WITH THE REST_

_HE FELL DOWN THE STAIRCASE, SHOT THROUGH THE BREAST_

One shot rang out. Patrick felt himself falling.

**\/\/\/**

I know. It was a little whacked, but please RnR if you liked. If not, please don't flame me.

ML


End file.
